


in the mood for love

by tenderized



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Canon Compliant, Friends to Exes to Friends to Lovers, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Sexual Content, Snapshots, photography as a vessel for love and yearning, suna learns it's bad manners to ghost a friend, yes friends to exes is deliberate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-14
Updated: 2020-08-14
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:21:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25888000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tenderized/pseuds/tenderized
Summary: Just as he’s about to leave, the boy straightens, finally disconnecting from the girl’s mouth, and they make eye contact over her shoulder.And – and Osamu recognizes him, recognizes that face.Suna’s eyes widen, surprised, and Osamu flees back into his apartment.Osamu finds love 36.6 meters above sea level.
Relationships: Miya Osamu/Suna Rintarou
Comments: 52
Kudos: 450
Collections: SunaOsa





	in the mood for love

**Author's Note:**

> or, as ao3 user @inunaki kindly pointed out, how osamu copes with falling in love with an aquarius sun

The balcony is nice, all things considered and especially with the rent he’s paying. He’s up high enough that if he positions himself in the right direction, looks through the gap between the buildings, the view might even be considered decent. Osamu’s one complaint would be that it faces the neighboring establishment at such an angle that, should he choose to do so, he can see directly into the bedroom opposite.

The young couple that used to live there had moved out a few weeks ago, but there’s a recent new occupant Osamu’s pretty sure, because now the yellow lights turn on again at night and keep him awake if he doesn’t pull the curtains closed.

The balcony is nice, even if the grey-green tiles are edged with dirt and sometimes when he hangs his clothes out to dry, the faint scent of smoke and city exhaust lingers behind.

A couple of planters, full of soil and shoved in the corner against the wall, had been left behind by the previous tenant. At first, Osamu hadn’t paid them much mind, had planned to throw them out and maybe add a chair or something instead, but as schoolwork piled and his shifts at the restaurant increased, the thought had slipped his mind. 

It was at some point during the middle of his first semester at college, in the midst of a particularly difficult project, that he had finally gained a sudden urge to clean every square centimeter of his apartment. As a result, he'd finally remembered that he should clear out the balcony, had steeled himself to carry a heavy ceramic planter down seven floors.

(The elevators hadn't worked then. They still don't, actually.)

However, when he'd bent down to pick one up, he'd found, to his surprise, a tiny jasmine plant growing in the soil, its pale green buds alive and persistent.

It’s become a sort of habit to water it every other day, with minor exceptions when midterms roll around or if there’s some other looming deadline, and a year later, the small white blossoms are flowering, the tendrils wrapping around the balcony edge. 

Osamu’s kind of proud, honestly.

It’s on this balcony, at approximately five PM on a Sunday afternoon, in the midst of watering the jasmine plant, that Osamu gets his first glance at his new neighbor.

He’s taking a much-needed break from staring holes into his Networks homework, game theory problems having slowly wrung out the last of Osamu’s will to live from him.

A mug quarter-filled with water from the kitchen sink has just been poured into the jasmine beds when his eye catches on movement from the apartment opposite.

A boy, tall and wide-shouldered, walks backwards into the bedroom. He’s saying something into the ear of the girl with him. The girl laughs at him and slaps a hand against his chest, brushes her dyed blonde hair over her shoulder, giving him a coy look.

There’s something about the boy that feels vaguely familiar, and Osamu furrows his eyebrows in thought, preoccupied, even as the boy reaches down to peel his shirt off.

There are two indentations, dimples, peeking above the waistband of his jeans. The afternoon sun cuts broad stripes across his skin, lighting up gold.

Osamu flinches back, startled, when the blonde girl pulls the boy down for a kiss, arms winding around his neck. He averts his gaze, embarrassed. Perhaps, he thinks ruefully, it’s time to go back to his homework. At least now he knows who lives across from him.

He jerks his head up again reflexively, however, attention forced back onto the neighboring building, when he hears a loud thump, like something crashing against glass. 

The girl, now in only her lacy, blue underwear, is pressed against the transparent surface of the balcony door, her legs wrapped around the boy’s waist, and the couple is passionately making out.

Osamu goes red. He glances from side to side, to see if anyone else is here to witness this – this blatantly public display of affection. 

Young couples these days, really, no sense of propriety. Honestly. He's not jealous. In fact, he's going to head back into his apartment and focus on his dreams of becoming a young entrepreneur and not think about how the last time he’d gotten laid was several months ago.

It's just as he’s about to leave that the boy finally straightens, disconnecting from the girl’s mouth, and they make eye contact over her shoulder.

And – and Osamu recognizes him, recognizes that face.

Suna’s eyes widen, surprised, and Osamu flees back into his apartment.

________________________________ 

Later that night, Osamu hears a clattering sound from the balcony. He chooses to ignore it.

Another jolt, and this time the balcony door actually shakes a little, so Osamu gets up, weary. If there’s a bird carcass outside, he’s going to be pissed.

However, when he steps out onto the balcony, it’s not a dive bombing bird that greets him, but something even worse.

“Suna,” he greets. “Are you trying to break my fuckin’ door.” He bends down to pick up an eraser and – is that an empty can of Coca Cola? – to toss back.

“Voyeur-san.” Suna grins at him, the quirk of his lips sly, and it’s the same smile he had in high school.

Osamu scowls, tips of his ears red. “Didn’t know my new neighbor was gonna be an exhibitionist.” His gaze slips down to the other’s neck and catch on the red-purple marks scattered there and on his collarbones.

He throws back the empty soda can, feeling sadistic satisfaction when it hits Suna on the shoulder and makes him yelp. The eraser follows soon after, but this one misses Suna’s hand just barely and ricochets off the edge, falling seven stories to the streets below.

“Hey,” Suna says, and he moves to lean so far over the railing it makes Osamu anxious. “I needed that.”

“Don’t throw your stationary at my door next time, then, and call like a normal person." Or don't, and they can go back to ignoring each other like they've been doing for the past year. He doesn't care. Really. "Whatever, I’ll give ya one of mine.” His erasers have probably been Suna’s at some point in time anyway.

“That was a really lousy toss, Osamu,” Suna complains, plaintive, good, as always, at talking around the subject.

They lapse into silence, Suna still hanging over the edge as if it’d somehow make it possible to see where the eraser had fallen, and Osamu watching him.

Osamu bites his lip, suddenly feeling awkward. Suna and him had been friends in high school, sure, but now he has doubts as to whether that was merely a byproduct of being teammates and classmates. The other boy had always been closer to Gin, and back then, Osamu and Atsumu had been a package deal. 

At the very least, he’d thought they were close enough that they’d keep in contact after high school, and in fact, at some point, he’d even had the thought that there might’ve been something more, but, well…

And who knows if this Suna is even the same as the one he remembers? As far as he can recall, Suna had never shown much interest in girls, yet here he is now, standing outside in a loose shirt and a ring of hickeys around his neck.

“Who was that?” Suna looks back up at him, his pretty, heart-shaped face blank, blinking as if he’d forgotten why he was out there to begin with, and Osamu jerks his head in a vague gesture toward the other’s bedroom. “Girlfriend?”

“Huh?” Suna looks over his shoulder behind him. “Oh, she’s a classmate. Pretty fun, but it’s nothing serious.” He snorts, then, suddenly. “From my _Interpersonal Communications_ class, actually.”

“Right, uh,” Osamu frowns, thinking. “Journalism or somethin’, right? That’s what you wanna do?”

Suna looks surprised, and then his eyes curve into crescents. “Yup. Investigative reporting. Can’t believe you remembered.”

“’Course I did, scrub. You and your camera, how could I have forgotten?”

The younger laughs. “Yeah, that was me. I’m taking an elective photography course for that, actually.” 

He angles forward a little, now, and Osamu suddenly realizes this is the nearest they’ve been to each other in almost two years. And really, the sides of the two buildings are so close together that – if he really stretched, if Suna reached out just far enough – their fingertips, 25.6 meters above the ground, 36.6 meters above sea level, would touch.

“You still going with the business route? How soon can I expect to eat at Onigiri Miya?”

Osamu shakes his head to clear the image and groans at the question. “I wouldn’t hold my breath. If I pass Financial Management, and that's a big if, then we’ll talk.” He tilts his head, then, remembering, and a little tired of the ambiguity, asks, “What’re you doing in Kyoto, anyway? Thought you were headin’ back to Tokyo.”

Suna grimaces, his nose wrinkling. “Mom got a new boyfriend, and she _says_ it's pretty serious. I dunno about that, but he got a promotion or something and has to move here. I guess I didn’t want to leave her alone in a new place without knowing anyone, you know? So I figured I’d transfer.”

Osamu nods. He knows that Suna often got homesick back in high school, although whether that was for Tokyo or for his mother, he never really clarified, but this new revelation shines a light on his actions.

“That’s gotta be tough, leaving yer friends and stuff.”

The other shrugs.

“Yeah, I guess. The transfer exams sucked more.” He pauses here and wets his lips nervously. “I knew you were in the area, too, so it wouldn’t have been that bad.”

Despite himself, Osamu blushes, and then immediately feels mad at himself for doing so. “Well, where do you - “

Suna interrupts him. “Kyoto University. I’m enrolled there, now.” As the words process, Osamu opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out, and he snaps his jaw shut. He swallows as sharp indignation shoots through him suddenly, face feeling hot with embarrassment.

The other catches onto his expression, and he continues warily. “Wait, Osamu, let me finish. I know that’s where you go, and I swear I was going to call you up," He's rushing his words now, and Osamu hates how he knows that Suna only does that when he's nervous. "And I was going to get in touch, but it’s been pretty busy moving in and getting everything settled.”

Osamu's mouth twists. “Not too busy to fuck your classmate, though,” he points out, blunt.

Suna flushes and falls silent. He doesn’t look away, though, doesn't hide.

“Is this about how I –” The words feel sour in his mouth, but it’s been over a year. He’s past this, Osamu tells himself.

“No!” the younger exclaims. “No, that’s got nothing to do with anything. I really was going to tell you.” He runs a hand over his face, sighing. “Promise.”

"Then, the apartment?"

"I had no idea you were living here," Suna answers truthfully. He chews on the inside of his mouth. "Today was a complete coincidence." Which means, Osamu realizes, that if Suna is lying about his plans to contact him, it's possible he'd have never known they were going to the same university, that they were even in the same city.

Osamu could leave. There’s nothing stopping him, technically, and it’s unlikely they’ll run into each other on campus. After all, they’ve avoided doing so for the last couple of weeks. Avoided each other for the entire first year of college, when Suna was still in Tokyo, their last text exchange falling flat some time the year before, with no one bothering to pick it back up.

He takes a deep breath, and he can smell jasmine, strong in the evening breeze. He lets it out slowly.

They’ve both changed, Osamu knows, and there’s no guarantee they’ll even still be friends despite their newfound proximity.

“Okay, Suna. It’s fine, I don’t care anymore.” The other’s sharp gaze is probing. “Let’s just forget ‘bout that, okay?” He glances up at the sky, now going grey-purple-yellow at the horizon, and wishes the people he cared about weren’t so hard to read.

New beginnings, right? That's what college is for. “I’ve got a 10 AM tomorrow morning, if you wanna take the subway together.”

________________________________ 

Remembering how to exist with Suna so close is easy comfort, like finally remembering you’ve got a sweater in your backpack after shivering outdoors for hours.

It's a little strange as well, like overlaying two photos not quite identical on top of each other - the lines smudge. He stands straighter now, smiles more. Same dark, unruly hair and penetrating gaze. The same laugh, new calluses on his palms. Other things are different, too, but that's okay, they can work past that. The other is still as shit a cook as Osamu remembers, and after visiting his apartment and seeing only ramen and microwaveable meals in the freezer, Osamu decides to stage an intervention.

“If Kita-san saw this, he’d faint.”

Suna snickers. “I’d pay to see that. Maybe I should invite him over?”

Osamu frowns at him, disapprovingly. “How do ya expect to play professionally eventually when you eat shit like this?” He yanks open the refrigerator and sees red when he finds only a bottle of soy sauce, a couple ketchup packets, and two sad boxes of blackberries. “Where’s the _protein_?”

He whips around and points a finger at Suna. “We are changing yer lifestyle before ya die before you hit thirty. _‘Tsumu_ eats better than this, even if that means eatin’ only chicken breast nowadays.”

Suna slaps the finger out of his face. “Yeah, well, Atsumu has a professional nutritionist,” He throws back, arms crossed over his chest. “And, like I’ve _said_ , I’ve been busy. This isn’t a long-term type of situation.”

Osamu stares at him, unimpressed. Suna looks away and cracks his knuckles absently. “Also, everything manages to burn.” He says this with such a straight face that Osamu’s not sure if he should be laughing or crying at this hopeless excuse for an adult.

Suna brightens suddenly, snapping his fingers and straightening from his slouch. “Hey, how about this, _you_ can cook for me.” Osamu closes his eyes and prays for patience. At this rate, he thinks he might get grey hairs for real.

“And I would do that, because?”

“Because you care about me?” Suna tries for a winning smile. Then, when there’s no response, “And I’ll do your dishes? Pay for half of the groceries?”

It’s a case Osamu loses before it even begins because he has never been able to say no to Suna. He has no qualms, really, against cooking more, especially if it gets him out of dishes, and the restaurant usually lets him bring leftovers home, but he’s also wary of flying too close to the flame again and feeling the burn of wax.

Suna leans in close. “Miya-san, don’t you plan on going into the food-service industry?”

“Alright, alright, you fucking leech.” Osamu swats at Suna, and the other jumps out of the way, and despite everything, his laughter still makes Osamu smile.

________________________________ 

“Why are you walking like that?” Osamu asks, glancing at Suna from the corner of his eye. He notes with satisfaction that they’re still about the same height. That, at least, hasn’t really changed.

“Huh?” Suna looks down at himself. “Oh. You know when you become hyperaware of your knees, and then you can’t stop thinking about them?” He waddles next to Osamu. “I think I’m forgetting how to walk.”

It’s a bright day, the sky the pale blue of a robin egg and the honey-sweet scent of the wisteria blossoms heavy in the air. The wind is playful, blowing petals their way, and they land in Suna’s hair and on his shoulders.

Suna places one leg in front of the other, unevenly, knees stiff. He wobbles, tilting into Osamu’s side.

“Oops,” he says, and Osamu nudges Suna back in position before shrugging his shoulder as his backpack slips to where they touch.

A few moments later, Suna knocks into him again, and as before, Osamu rights him.

“Hey, walk in a straight line, will ya,” Osamu says. “You tired or something?”

“If I say yes, will you carry me?”

Osamu narrows his eyes at the other, and Suna blinks back, innocent.

“No way,” he says and looks away. 

________________________________ 

Osamu doesn’t see the blonde-haired girl anymore, so he guesses that Suna really had been telling the truth when he said it wasn’t anything serious.

“Should I try jumping over to your place? I could prob’ly make it.” If he steps onto the fire escape and uses the frame of the store sign below as a foothold, he can probably grab hold of the railings of Suna’s balcony.

Honestly, he’s a little tempted to try because, one, it would be cool, and two, it’s a major pain in the ass to go down seven stories, walk a couple of steps to the next building, and then go up seven floors to reach Suna’s place.

“Please don’t,” Suna says. “I’d feel – bad – for the poor soul that has to – scrape your remains off the sidewalk.” He’s in his room, on the floor doing push-ups with the balcony door open, so they can talk. “Here lies Osamu. He died,” He exhales, loudly, blowing the air out of his lungs. “Because he was a dumbass.”

Practice had been cancelled for the day, and Suna had said he was too lazy to walk through the rain to go to the gym.

The overhang above Osamu’s head shields the worst of the storm from him, and the sound of the raindrops pinging against the metal means he has to strain to hear what Suna says.

“What?” he shouts.

“I said,” Suna stands up and fists his shirt in his hand to wipe at his face. The little voice in Osamu’s head tells him not to even think about looking at the sliver of skin that’s revealed. “You’re a dumbass.”

He looks. Suna still has abs, a part of him is delighted to find. _I sure am_ , he thinks.

“You never used to willingly exercise outside of practice,” he recalls, remembering how in the past whenever they ran laps, Suna would try, every time without fail, to find a shortcut, no matter the scolding he'd receive afterwards.

Osamu leans against the edge now, and his sleeves dampen. The tiles are cool and rough to the touch, and the raindrops fall heavily in his fringe and slip down the bridge of his nose. Osamu licks one off the bow of his lips. 

“People change, I guess,” Suna says, mouth pursed. “Why’re you standing in the rain?” Suna is still firmly inside his own bedroom, and he flinches when a large gust blows his hair back from his face, splattering him with raindrops.

“I dunno,” Osamu replies, tilting his head up and feeling the rainfall against his skin. He closes his eyes. “Kinda like it.”

________________________________ 

The soft click of the shutter has Osamu whipping his head around to look at Suna.

“Did you just take a picture of me?” he frowns, disgruntled.

“Yeah,” Suna says, already pressing the play button on his camera to review the photo. He snorts, lips quirking up. “Cute.”

“Lemme see.” Osamu leans across the low table, craning his neck to get a look, and Suna tilts his camera, so he can judge for himself. 

It’s a nice photo, Osamu admits, _objectively_. In the picture, he’s looking off into the distance, pencil resting below his lip, and the orange of the sunset behind him casts half his face in shadow. It almost makes him look contemplative, like a proper college student, and he laughs.

“Why’d ya do that?”

Suna worries his lip between his teeth, drumming his fingers against the grain of the wood. 

“I dunno. Got a project coming up soon, so I was trying to get some inspiration.” He sets the camera down and pushes his assignments out of the way, slouching until his cheek rests against the surface of the tabletop.

Osamu raises his eyebrows. “What kinda project? For your photography course?”

“Yup. We’re supposed to take pictures that fit with a certain theme they gave us.” Osamu waits, but Suna doesn’t continue.

“Well, what’s the topic?” Honestly, sometimes getting Suna to talk about what’s on his mind feels like pulling teeth.

Suna sniffs. “Nothing you need to know.” 

Osamu rolls his eyes. “Whatever.”

The younger lets his eyelids flutter closed, a slight smile on his face. “I’m going to take a nap, ‘kay? Wake me up when it’s time to eat.”

“You are such a brat sometimes, Suna.”

“Only with you,” is all the reply he gets.

________________________________ 

Osamu's in the middle of finishing an assignment when his phone screen lights up with a notification, and then another.

> **DO NOT PICK UP** : yo
> 
> **DO NOT PICK UP** : so. suna??????????? since when ???
> 
> **osamu** : wtf r u talking about
> 
> **DO NOT PICK UP** : [ _ig link attached_ ] is this not your sweatshirt ????????

He groans when his phone starts vibrating in his hand, and he’s tempted to decline the call. He picks up anyway, like he always does.

“Whaddya want, ‘Tsumu.”

“Since when were you and Suna talkin’ again, shithead?” Atsumu’s voice is loud through the speakers, and Osamu hurriedly turns down the volume. “Thought you guys cut off all communication after he ground your heart into the dirt with the heel of his ugly ass Converse.”

Osamu pinches the bridge of his nose between two fingers and wills his headache away. Interestingly, it had appeared the second he answered the call.

“First of all, I dunno what you’re talkin' about, and second of all, lower yer damn voice, stupid.”

“Then why’s he wearin’ that Perfume hoodie of yours in this picture? And don’t lie, it’s got that hole in it from when _you_ fell after pushing _me_ off the pier summer ‘fore third year.”

“Will ya let that go, already, jeez.”

“Yeah, when I’m _dead_ , bitch. Because I almost _died_.”

“I dunno how the team stands you.”

“’Cause they love me, ‘Samu.” Then, “Don’t change the subject, scrub. You still in love with him or somethin’?”

“I was never _in love_ with him,” Osamu splutters. He really hadn’t been. “I had a _thing_ , a very small thing, for him, maybe. In high school. We’re different people now.”

“I thought ya stopped textin’ him. Can’t believe you guys are hangin’ out without me. Man, if I’d known it was okay to start talking to him again, I would’ve invited him to the game last week.” Atsumu complains. 

“No one asked you to cut off contact with him, ‘Tsumu, ya did that yourself. Also, you’re all the way in Tokyo, dumbass.”

“Isn’t Suna?”

“No,” Osamu traces a whorl in the grain of the wood with his fingertip. “Actually, he’s my neighbor now.”

A beat of silence, and then, “What?” Atsumu screeches. “You mean all the way in Kyoto? Since when?”

“Since the start of the semester, about. He decided to transfer ‘cause of his mom.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Atsumu asks, accusatory. 

“There’s nothin’ to say about it. We’re friends, same as in high school. It was coincidence, is all.” He picks at the edge of a piece of clear tape stuck on the table, left behind from the last time Suna had been over to work on his photography project. “I was surprised, too.”

“I’ll bet,” Atsumu mutters.

Osamu grins.

“Don’t worry ‘bout me, ‘Tsumu. Ya don’t have enough brain cells to focus on more’n one thing at a time.”

“Who’s worried about you, stupid ‘Samu. Go fuck yourself.”

________________________________ 

“Hey,” Suna says. “Gets pretty busy here, huh?” His laptop is open in front of him, and he’s taken up residence in an entire corner of the small diner, papers scattered everywhere, his camera settled at the side.

“Yeah.” Osamu pulls a chair out opposite and collapses into it. “Not usually this bad.”

“Here to kick me out?” Suna drags his backpack over closer and begins rifling through it for his folder. “Sorry I didn’t order much, your boss must hate me.”

“Nah, you can stay.” Osamu’s voice is muffled in his arms. “Just gonna rest for like fifteen minutes and then close up. Take your time.”

“Sure, I’ll wake you up, then.”

He must’ve been more tired than he thought he was, because he actually falls asleep, and when he wakes, it's to the feeling of fingers carding through his hair.

“Time’s up, lazy ass,” he hears. Still half-asleep, he nudges at the hand with his head, before stiffening when he feels it physically hesitate. Just as he’s about to apologize or something, the hand begins running through his hair again, and Osamu forces his shoulders to relax.

He almost falls back asleep when, “Hey,” a voice calls out, and it’s not Suna, so Osamu forces himself to gather his bearings and straighten, surreptitiously wiping at the drool that had gathered at the corner of his mouth. His co-worker pokes her head out from behind the front counter from where she’d been locking the register. A bag is slung over her shoulder, and she has her keys in hand.

“Osamu?” she says. “You sure I can leave first? If you need help, I can stay behind.”

“I’m good, thanks, Mina.” He waves a hand to shoo her out the door. “Have fun on your date.”

She blushes and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “I hope so. Thank you so much for doing this, I’ll definitely make it up to you!” And with that, she leaves, and the restaurant is empty except for them.

“You close at eleven,” Suna says, and his hands are back in his lap. Osamu misses them already. He’s looking at the door contemplatively. “Kinda late for a date, huh?”

Osamu shrugs. “It’s a Friday,” he says by way of explanation. Then, “I think her date’s some office worker, doesn’t get much time off, and she’s working double shifts, too, so they do what they can.”

The other hums in consideration.

“What is it?” Osamu asks. He peers at Suna from the corner of his eye and spots an unreadable expression on his face. Asking the other to share his thoughts is usually a fifty-fifty game, although Suna’s opened up since high school, so now if Osamu crosses his fingers, it's now more like seventy-thirty.

“Hmm?” Suna taps his pencil against his lower lip. “Nothing, really. That’s a lot of effort to spend on something that might not even work out, though, isn’t it?”

Normally, Osamu would brush the words off even if they sort of rub him the wrong way, but suddenly he's brought back to high school, their third year and the gap that widened between them, something he'd thought they'd finally left behind, and now he feels a little sick, the oyakodon he’d eaten earlier that night sitting heavy in his stomach.

“Is that what you really think, Suna?” He swallows past the dryness that’s gathered in his throat. “Relationships take time and effort, y’know? They don’t jus’ spring outta nothin’.”

Suna frowns at him, posture tense and jaw clenched, ears picking up on words unsaid. “I never said that. Don’t put words in my mouth, Osamu.” 

“I know," he says, frustrated. "I'm not. But I’m just sayin’, people can’t just run away at the first sign of commitment.” He runs a hand through his hair and lets out a bitter laugh. “For anything, you know, I’m not just talkin’ about romantic relationships.”

Silence hangs over them, awkward and stifling. 

“Look, I – ” Suna starts to say, and his mouth has gone all wobbly, but Osamu cuts him off.

“It’s late, so I’m gonna go clean up in the back. I’ll be done in like half an hour, but you don’t have to wait up.” He stands up, chair legs scraping against the dirty wooden floor and hurries back to the kitchen, hating the look on Suna’s face and hating that he’d been the one to put it there.

By the time he finishes, he’s in a piss-poor mood. He’d dropped one of the plates on the ground and spent ten minutes looking for the broom to sweep it up, just to find it in the storage closet where he'd first checked, and then afterwards, he’d spilled the lemon-smelling dish soap all over the front of his apron.

He stomps back to the front, pausing when he sees that Suna is still there, sitting at an empty table, his schoolwork put away. He has his chin propped up on his hand and is staring out the window, although Osamu knows there isn’t a decent view from that angle.

“I’m done,” he says, stiffly, to the room at large.

Suna turns toward him, and the harsh line of his mouth relaxes, just a little.

“Okay,” he says. He slings his bag over his shoulder and grabs hold of his camera, standing up.

They walk back because neither of them feels much like rushing to catch the last train before it leaves. 

The night is still warm, but there’s a slight breeze that ruffles Osamu’s hair and kisses his cheeks. 

Suna is quiet next to him, and Osamu's not really mad anymore, but he doesn’t feel much like talking either, preferring to focus on the ache that’s developing between his shoulder blades. 

Halfway home, he hears a small intake of breath and unconsciously angles closer towards Suna, ears attuned to the other. The invisible thread around his heart gives a little tug.

“Sorry,” Suna says, finally, not looking at him. Osamu waits, heartbeat beating steady in his chest, and takes care not to trip over his own feet. One foot, then the other. “For being such an ass in high school and also last year.”

“And today.”

“And today,” Suna sticks his bottom lip out, conceding. “And I’m sorry I never say what I feel and that I'm always running away, and I’m sorry I’m probably sending out mixed signals.”

Osamu breaths in deep through his nose, heart speeding up despite himself. “I’m not askin’ you to do anything you don’t want.” Sometimes he thinks he's ready to let go, and other times, he feels he really, really, really might never get over Suna. The thought doesn’t bother him as much as it should. “But don’t.” He exhales slowly. “Don’t act like our friendship means nothin’ to you either. ‘Cause I know you care, too.”

“Yeah.” Suna looks over at him and smiles, a little sad. He knocks his shoulder softly against Osamu’s. “You're right.”

________________________________ 

“Hey, Osamu,” Suna’s quiet voice slows his steps, and Osamu realizes that the other had stopped walking some time ago. The wind whisks his words from his mouth and carries them to Osamu’s ears. “Look at me.”

Osamu turns back, a question on his lips. He meets Suna’s gaze under the streetlights.

The other brings the camera up, and then there’s a click, and he’s blinded by the flash. He blinks the stars out of his eyes.

Suna lets go of the camera, letting it swing and bump against his chest, and steps forward, quickening his pace to reach Osamu. 

“Thanks,” he says, breathless.

“Aren’t ya gonna check the result?”

“Nah, I know what it looks like.” Suna’s hand catches on his sleeve, tugging him forward. His grip is warm against Osamu’s elbow. “Let’s go home.”

________________________________ 

“Will you relax already? It’s not like it’s a blind date.” Suna drawls from where he’s lying on Osamu’s bed, watching as Osamu changes out of his fifth shirt. He doesn’t even have that many shirts to choose from, so he doesn’t know why it’s so hard to pick one.

“I don’t care ‘bout _that_ ,” Osamu hisses. “But one of them is bringing over a sister that works at a Michelin starred restaurant nearby. Ever heard of something called networking?”

Suna snorts. “We’re going to a karaoke bar with your classmates to celebrate the end of finals.”

“It’s a once in a lifetime chance,” Osamu insists. “I’ve got an entire list of questions to ask her.”

“Then ask her. She’s not going to care if you wear a blue shirt or a green shirt, Osamu, I promise you that.”

“That’s easy for you to say,” Osamu complains. “Ya look good in anythin’.”

Suna raises his eyebrows in disbelief. “Are you, Miya Osamu, the guy that had to bring a separate bag to hold all of his chocolates every Valentine’s during high school, seriously saying that about me?”

Osamu blushes. “That’s different. Those girls didn’t know what they were thinking.”

Suna stands up now and sidles over until they’re side by side looking into the full-length mirror on the inside of the closet. “That sounds pretty inconsiderate of those girls’ feelings, don’t you think, Osamu,” he murmurs, eyes raking up and down the lines of the other's body. 

He turns Osamu to face him.

“I think the blue one is nice,” Suna says, trailing a finger down over Osamu’s chest, nail catching on the pocket on the front. Heat sparks in Osamu’s stomach.

“Suna…” He warns. This close, Osamu can feel the warmth of him, smelling of jasmine and aftershave.

“It’s tighter, brings out your…” Suna grins, canines showing, and steps away, making a hand gesture. “Tits.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Osamu shoves him away, and Suna falls onto the bed, cackling.

“It’s not fair!” the younger says, holding his stomach. “I’m the one that wants to be a pro-athlete, why is your body still better than mine?”

“Because eating well is half of gettin’ the body you want, scrub.” He turns back toward the mirror, willing his face to cool down, and looks over himself, fiddling with the collar.

“Keep the top two buttons unbuttoned,” Suna suggests, and the way he’s reclining on the bed now causes his legs to sprawl open. Osamu averts his eyes quickly. “I’m serious, though, you know,” he says, now, voice low. “You look good.”

Osamu introduces Suna to his friends and some of his classmates when they finally arrive, fashionably late, one hand pressed in close on the small of the other’s back.

He’s got better tolerance than Suna, he finds out, not by much, but still enough that he’s able to down the last shot that Suna waves away, looking a little green, before excusing himself to the restroom.

Yoshida-san, the sister that works at the Michelin star restaurant, is sweet and answers all of his questions sincerely. Osamu loves her a little for it, and later, when he shows her phone number off giddily to Suna, the younger rolls his eyes and smirks back, throwing him a thumbs up.

Around 3 AM, he kisses someone, just because he can, a girl that always sits five seats over from him in his Marketing class, and when he does, all he can feel is the heat of Suna’s thigh next to him, their legs pressing close together on the sofa, as she tugs on his hair to kiss deeper.

There’s some awful rendition of AKB48’s Aitakatta happening in the background, when he finally gathers the strength to prepare to lift his head from where he had been resting his forehead against the table, condensation from the drinks wetting his hair. Someone’s rubbing soothing, little circles into the back of his neck, fingertips cool from holding some iced drink.

“Wanna go home?” Suna leans down to whisper, lips brushing against the shell of his ear. “Pretty tired.”

It’s a struggle, sort of, not really, to sit up, and the world spins around and around, like a really evil top, but he manages it.

He hears Suna snicker, and so he swats at him. Home is sounding awfully good right now, he thinks, and says as much. 

“I don’t think it counts as a win if this is how you end up,” Suna says, keeping his voice quiet as he helps him stand.

“Fuck you, Rin. A win’s a win.” He leans his weight against the other. “I’ll drink ya under the table any day.”

“No more drinking, I think,” Suna laughs. 

They wave goodbye to the others and leave the karaoke booth. It’s hot outside when they leave the air-conditioned room, and Osamu’s shirt sticks to him with sweat.

He doesn’t remember much of the taxi ride back to their apartments, but he recognizes the weight of Suna’s head against his shoulder and the citrus-sweet smell of his shampoo, lemon-sage, and underneath, earth and jasmine, always jasmine.

He pulls Suna after him into his apartment, when the other tries to leave.

“Just sleep over,” he says, even though there’s no real reason to do so. Suna concedes with a half-nod, and they climb the torturous seven flights of stairs together.

He remembers wishing that this night would never end, curling in close to the other on the bed, on top of the blankets because the AC is jammed. Tonight could be forever, he thinks, and then he sleeps.

________________________________ 

The next morning, Osamu wakes up distressingly clearheaded and to the realization that he’s got morning wood, dick pressed up to the curve of Suna’s ass. It’s a mortifying way to come to consciousness, and he falls out of bed in his haste to get away, feet tangling in the blankets.

“Wha – “ Suna’s voice is thick with sleep, and he turns bleary eyes toward the empty space now behind him.

“Nothing, go back to sleep, Suna.” The words come out on autopilot, and Osamu tries to cover himself with the blankets, just in case. Suna’s head drops back onto the pillow, his dark hair fluffing up, clearly having deemed whatever it was not important.

Osamu lets out the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding and stumbles to the shower, turning the water on to the coldest setting. 

His thoughts stray briefly to toned thighs and a fit stomach, and he ducks his head under the freezing spray until all he can feel is numbness. 

Halfway through, he hears Suna come into the bathroom. The younger doesn’t say anything, and Osamu’s heart pounds, in sync with the seconds that pass. Then, the sound of the faucet turning on and soon after, someone brushing their teeth. 

The door closes again.

Groaning, Osamu moves to rinse the rest of the shampoo out of his hair and turns off the water. He wraps a towel around his waist and runs a hand through his bangs, brushing them back, away from his face.

There are five toothbrushes on the sink counter now because Suna often forgets if he’s left one and brings another. Osamu takes his own, squeezes a generous amount of toothpaste onto the bristles, and doesn’t think about this information.

He scowls at his reflection in the mirror. It’s fogged up, and the moisture makes his image blur, the edges muddled and indistinct. He draws a frowny face in the condensation, right over his own face. It looks wrong.

The door opens again, and Suna steps back in, still wearing nothing but his black boxer briefs. His hair is a disaster, and Osamu drags his eyes back up and forces himself to focus on this and nothing else. 

His fingers knock the cap of the toothpaste off the lip of the sink, and it falls to the floor, rolling to a stop near Suna’s bare feet.

“Ah, sorry I’ll – “ He tries to say around the suds in his mouth, but Suna is already bending over to pick up the toothpaste cap, and his words get stuck in the back of his throat, eyes stuck on the stretch of black fabric and the edge separating the white expanse of Suna’s thigh from where his underwear rides up.

And. Fuck.

Suna straightens and places the cap back on the counter, meeting his gaze through the mirror, and Osamu flushes bright red. Did he catch that? Suna’s expression is unreadable, one cheek puffed out from his toothbrush.

One, two, three seconds pass, and Osamu can’t tell if the atmosphere is tense or if it’s all in his head. Then, Suna looks away, eyes shifting to the frowny face in the mirror. The warm air from the open door makes the vapor drip, and the face looks like it’s melting. Suna brings a hand up and draws a curve, flipping the frown upside down. 

He shoulders Osamu out of the way and spits into the sink, and the tense feeling in Osamu’s chest unravels a little.

________________________________ 

It’s like once he’s allowed himself to really see Suna in a different light, he can’t stop. It’s a phase, he tells himself, because Suna is Suna, and Osamu's fine with just being friends, really. His body is just confused, and he’ll get over it.

Except, now, it feels like something in the universe has changed irreversibly, and when he jerks off, it's to a voice he knows and to a recognizable face, and he curses himself for knowing exactly what Suna’s hands look like, for imagining what he sounds like when he comes, what he might look like when he cries.

________________________________ 

“I’ll take the couch,” Osamu says, picking up one of the pillows from the bed.

“What, why?” Suna looks at him, brow furrowed in confusion. “We always share the bed.”

“Oh, well.” It hurts Osamu’s head trying to navigate their relationship sometimes, unsure where the limits are, what is too much and what is too little. The last thing he wants is for Suna to be uncomfortable, and he’s not keen on embarrassing himself again. But Suna’s not acting any differently… “If you don’t mind.”

“Why would I mind?” The other’s gaze is sharp and discerning, and Osamu wonders how much he knows.

There’s no way to answer that, so Osamu just shrugs, relieved when Suna drops the subject without a fight.

Under the covers, Suna throws a possessive leg over Osamu’s hip, snuggling in close, forehead pressed against the back of the elder’s neck. His warm breath ghosts down the collar of Osamu’s shirt, and Osamu suppresses a shiver.

He’s long given up trying to put up boundaries between them, given up trying to fit into the mold of what fits under the definition of friendship. Whatever makes Suna happy.

And apparently what makes Suna happy is to be the bigger spoon, long limbs hating confinement, so Osamu lets him.

Halfway through the night, he wakes up, pulled out of a dream quickly fading, and whether it’s the warmth or the shift of the bed sheets or his recent turbulent thoughts seeping into his unconscious mind, Osamu finds himself stiffening for the second time in as many nights Suna’s been in his bed.

Not fully conscious yet, he shifts, seeking blind relief. At some point, Suna had moved, now sleeping curled up with his back towards the other, and Osamu lines his body up, hips fitting in close.

“Osamu,” he hears, then. Suna's voice is soft and drowsy, the bare syllables of his name gentled by the dark, and he finally comes to his senses, stills.

He’s wide awake now, and he can hear the faint tapping against the windows. It’s storming outside, he thinks. Summer rains.

His face heats up, burning, and suddenly he’s dizzy, feeling suffocated by the humidity and the covers. _Fuck, what the hell am I doing?_ , he thinks, thoughts frantic. However, Suna’s form remains loose and relaxed in his hold, and just as he’s about to move away, to apologize and sleep on the couch like he’d initially decided, Suna presses back, grinding his ass against Osamu.

Osamu groans then, grip tightening on the other’s hip.

“Suna,” he breathes out, throat dry, and he can feel his heartbeat in his fingertips, racing, racing. Tentative but feeling emboldened, his hand slips back down, the tip of his pinky dipping beneath the waistband of Suna’s shorts. No underwear.

Osamu stops, thumb rubbing slow circles at the smooth skin, over a mole he knows to be there, breaths coming in shallowly.

They can still stop. He doesn’t want to.

Suna’s hand, warm and slightly sweaty, the fingers long and deft, comes up to cover his, and then, slowly, the younger guides Osamu’s hand lower, between his thighs.

________________________________ 

Osamu washes his hands in the dark, soaps off saliva and the feel of Suna’s mouth from his fingers. Feeling exhausted, he lowers his head to take in a long draught of water, the faucet digging into the bridge of his nose, and then reaches down to splash more of it onto his face.

His shoulder blades sting from where Suna had dug his nails in, and he wonders if he’d be able to see the marks if he turned on the light. He’s tempted, in case they fade overnight.

When he returns to the bedroom, the other is already asleep, face turned towards the window, and the watery blue of the streetlights outside glances across his shoulders and chest. 

Washcloth in hand, Osamu wipes gently at the corner of his mouth, where he’s started to drool a little, and then reaches over to bring the other’s hand to his lap, careful not to wake him.

He runs the wet towel, cool against heated skin, slowly between Suna’s fingers, along his nail beds and over his palm and wrist, removing sweat and dried come, repeats the same with the other hand. In the middle of his ministrations, Suna’s hand closes around his briefly, an instinctual response, like breathing, and his grip is soft before it relaxes and lets go, and Osamu - Osamu wants, wants, wants, and he wants to believe in the universe’s tender heart, and he wants to believe in _more_.

________________________________ 

Two days later, Osamu corners Suna near the Chemistry building and pulls him beneath the stairwell. Kissing him under broad daylight feels a lot like vertigo - everything going bright and technicolor all at once as he falls - and when Suna closes his eyes and presses back, it feels like a promise, the world righting again under their feet.

________________________________ 

Suna’s head tips backward, and the moonlight is pearlescent against the curve of his throat.

“Suna.” Osamu forces himself to still for a moment, and Suna whines, nails digging into his shoulder blades in disapproval. “Rin, can I take a photograph?”

“What?” Flushed against the bed, Suna gazes up at him, eyes half-lidded and unfocused. “You mean – ah – now?” His eyelashes flutter as he processes the question. “Can’t you finish fucking me first?” Lips bitten red turn downwards in a frown. “I’m really fucking hard right now.”

“Please,” Osamu asks, and Suna, aloof and impassive Suna, blushes down to his chest. Osamu’s face heats up, but he stares back, determined, and brings a hand up to brush aside the other’s hair, tucking it behind his ears absentmindedly and stroking at the delicate skin there.

Suna slides his gaze away. “I mean, if you really,” His voice cracks. “Really want to.”

“Okay,” Osamu grins and ducks down to kiss him on the lips, brief and tasting of salt. “Okay. Give me a moment.”

He balances his weight on one hand and reaches over to the nightstand to pick up his phone.

“Ah – wait,” Suna puts a hand on his arm, stopping him. “Don’t use your phone, it’ll upload to the cloud.” His face is cherry-red. “You can use my camera.”

Osamu looks at him, searching, and sets the phone down. 

“Yeah, of course, whatever you want,” and he picks up Suna’s camera instead, cradles it between both hands like it’s something precious.

Suna covers his face with both hands and breathes out heavily. His dark hair, mussed against the pillows, haloes his fine features.

“Don’t hide, beautiful.” He takes one of Suna’s hands and holds it in his own, interlacing their fingers. 

“Pervert,” the other accuses, cheeks red. "You really are a pervert." His hand tightens around Osamu's. 

Osamu finds Suna in the viewfinder, knowing eyes staring back at him through the lens, and clicks the shutter. 

________________________________ 

“Hey, Suna,” Osamu says into the open air. “What are we?” A long silence follows his question, and Osamu closes his eyes, feeling the night breeze caress his skin. The cicadas are quiet tonight; it’ll be autumn soon. 

Suna’s not one to think aloud, so Osamu waits patiently, heart beating slow and steady beneath his ribs, and lets him mull over the question without pushing.

Just as he’s about to turn over to check if Suna’s actually fallen asleep, the other makes a low, considering hum. “We can be anything, I guess. Whatever we want to be, Osamu.”

Osamu opens his eyes and stares out at the stars above him. Anything, huh? Anything was nice; it was also a lot, irrational, everything. Unlimited possibilities… that was good, but Osamu also wanted something concrete – tangible – with Suna. Something he could measure out, like rice in his hands, knowing that whatever they had was something real.

He feels more than sees when Suna looks over at him, and he pouts when the other lets out a soft laugh, fonder than anything.

“You don’t like that?” The younger shifts onto his side and leans over, until he’s half-hovering over Osamu. The moment stretches, and they're suspended in time. In this universe, there is only the two of them, them and the wide, bottomless sky.

“How about this,” Suna says, warm puffs of air ghosting against Osamu’s lips. “You can be mine,” Here, he leans down to press a kiss, cool and sweet like spring water, to the corner of the other’s mouth. Then, another at his temple. “And I will be yours.”

**Author's Note:**

> me, completely seriously: it's a metaphor you see, because they live so close together that if they reached out they could probably touch, but if they want to actually be together, they'd have to go down seven stories, walk to the next building, and then go up seven stories, which is a lot of effort to go a pretty short distance, and this parallels their relationship because [cut for length]
> 
> twitter at [@atsusuna](https://www.twitter.com/atsusuna)


End file.
